


what I want (isn't what I need)

by Arbryna



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Friendship, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbryna/pseuds/Arbryna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long day helping Bo with her invitation to the Dawning, Tamsin gets drunk and finds herself in need of a distraction. What she gets is not quite what she expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what I want (isn't what I need)

**Author's Note:**

> Could be considered a follow-up of sorts to [Ten Minutes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/902772), but mostly just implies that Tamsin and Dyson have hooked up before.

Tamsin sighs and pounds on the door again. How long can it take to get from one end of the apartment to the other?

The door swings open to reveal a very sweaty, very irritated Dyson. "What the hell—Tamsin." 

"That's my name, D-man," she replies, swaying into the doorway. She's close enough that she can smell the sweat on him now, sharp and clean. She reaches up with her free hand, running a finger down the slick skin of his chest. "Glad you remember it. Might come in handy soon." 

Dyson sniffs at the air between them, frowns as he meets her eyes. "Have you been drinking?"

"Eh…maybe a little." Tamsin lifts the bottle in her hand, waves it a little to demonstrate; less than a shot's worth swishes around in the bottom. She shrugs. "Okay, maybe a lot." 

He sighs. "What are you doing here, Tamsin?"

Now _that's_ a good question. Tamsin's not quite sure of the answer herself—she only knows that the thought of sprawling out alone on the cold, hard bed of her truck sparked a hollow ache in her chest. It's been a long day, and far too much of it was spent with that damned succubus—who, she grudgingly has to admit, she's come to respect, if nothing else. She won't go any further than that, won't let herself think about her spur-of-the-moment decision to congratulate Bo on her victory by fucking _kissing_ her, of all things. The last thing she needs is to get attached to someone—especially the person she's just discovered is her reason for coming to this damn town, the person she's been assigned to collect and condemn to a fate worse than death. 

No, she needs a distraction. _That's_ why she's here; Dyson was pretty good at that, as she so fondly recalls, and if he was down for it before, maybe he'll be down for it again. 

"Wouldn't you like to know," she says with a coy smirk. She takes a staggering step, until the front of her shirt brushes against his bare chest. 

"Yes, I would," Dyson replies, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

Tamsin tilts her head up until her lips are mere centimeters away from Dyson's. "Let me in and you'll find out."

His brow creases, but he steps aside to wave her in, closing the door behind her. She sets the near-empty bottle down on his sad little kitchen island and turns around, bracing herself on the edge of it in a way that she knows is enticing. Predictably, his eyes flit down to her chest as he steps closer. 

"What's going on, partner?" Dyson asks calmly. If Tamsin didn't know better, she'd think he was _worried_ about her. Ha—as if. 

"Nothing as interesting as what _could_ be going on," Tamsin replies, pushing off of the island to move closer. Dyson barely has a chance to protest before she grabs his head, fingernails scraping along his scalp as she pulls his mouth down to hers. 

This is so much different from kissing Bo; she tries to block the comparison from her mind, but she can't seem to make herself forget—no matter how many shots she's had—the way Bo's lips melted under hers, the tentative way Bo kissed back (the way her stomach flipped and her chest fluttered in a way she forgot centuries ago). There's nothing soft or yielding about kissing Dyson—he's all scratchy beard and hard aggression, his fingers wrapping around her upper arms and biting into the skin and muscle. 

It takes a moment for her to realize that Dyson isn't grabbing her to pull her closer; he pushes until she's leaning back against the counter again, and there's no desire in his eyes—only calm concern. 

"You're drunk."

"Yeah, and?" Tamsin raises her eyebrows, shaking her head impatiently. 

"And you're my friend," Dyson says simply. "I won't take advantage of you." 

"Like you could," Tamsin scoffs, dry and mocking. "If I didn't want to be here, wolfboy, I wouldn't be." She starts to lunge toward him again, but finds herself stopped by his hands pressing against her shoulders.

"I don't doubt that," he chuckles. "But I still think you need sleep more than anything else right now."

Tamsin rolls her eyes. "I thought chivalry died already," she huffs.

"What can I say?" He smiles and shrugs. "I'm old-fashioned." 

"Whatever." Tamsin moves to brush past him, but he catches her arm before she can get very far. 

"Hey," he says gently. "You can stay here if you want. I know you don't really have anywhere else to go." 

She frowns, looks away. It's strange; she's not used to being given such selfless offers. "Whatever," she says again. If he's going to offer something better than a convenient parking place and hard metal under her back, she's not going to turn it down. 

"You can take the bed," he offers. Tamsin looks around, and the only other thing she can see that might be anywhere near comfortable to sleep on is a chair by the bed. 

"Dude, don't be stupid." She rolls her eyes again. "We can share. I'm a big girl. I can keep my hands to myself."

"All right," Dyson agrees with a small smile. He gestures toward the bed. "Go ahead and get comfortable. I've got to rinse off and then I'll join you." 

"You got it, D-man."

"Hey," he says, catching her arm again as she moves past him. "If you need to talk about anything, I'm here." 

Tamsin nods slowly, shrugs. "Sure thing." She waves her hand dismissively. "Enjoy your shower. I promise not to peek." 

He smiles, satisfied, and heads over toward the free-standing shower on the other end of the room. Tamsin watches him go, her brow creasing as she frowns. 

Friend, he said. It's been so long since she had one that she barely even remembers what it means. There are other valkyries, her sisters, but most of the ones she's most acquainted with are either dead or stuck serving the same bastard she does. "Friend" is hardly a word she would use to describe someone who'd stab her in the back if their boss commanded it. None of them—except maybe Acacia—would give her the kind of no-strings-attached comfort and friendship that Dyson is offering. 

When she came here, she swore she wasn't going to get attached to anything. Hell, it's been her default setting for centuries. She never expected this—never expected Dyson, with his easy charm, or Bo, with her…everything. It's only going to make things harder when she has to do the job she was sent here for. 

Tamsin lies back on Dyson's bed and groans. She is _so_ screwed.


End file.
